So often was the health of Lucille and myself proposed and drunk, that I lost track of those who did me the honor to touch glasses. There was gay laughter, songs and talk, merrymaking among the young people, and over all good-fellowship and much cheer, with Lucille happiest of the women, and I of the men. It grew night, but hundreds of candles chased the gloom away.
So it had come about, after many days, with force and with arms I had won my bride.
We were to go to the home I had prepared. Lucille kissed Madame Carteret and others of her women friends, while I had my own cart and horses brought up to the door.
There were farewells by the score, laughter and tears from the women, cheers from the men. The driver spoke to his team, they leaped forward. Lucille and I had begun our life’s journey together.
It was not far to the house. The door was opened on a blaze of candles.
“Welcome home, sweetheart,” I said, kissing her.
“Oh, Francis,” she exclaimed, looking about. “It is perfect. How good of you to do all this for me.”
“Do you like it?”
“It is more than I dreamed.”
A little wind, coming in the windows, flickered the candles. The breeze seemed to sigh in contentment at our happiness. The servants closed the door. We were alone--my wife and I.